Proof that I am still drawing, and writing, kinda. Does writing comics count as writing?
Anyway, we're now on both Webtoon and ComicFury, so pick your poison if you wish! Tumblr isn't ideal for reading comics I feel like, and they look much nicer on one of those sites. I only just discovered ComicFury and I am personally a fan.
Anyway, I swear I have very deep lore and I'm feeling very passionate about my comic right now.
The Last Cat in the Universe is an incremental game which made me ugly cry, repeatedly.
In the interest of making the tears go away, I wrote my pain into a slightly happier ending.
---
The new colony was a lot of things.
Home was not one of them.
Home was a shattered planet light years away, a core of molten rock and iron slowly cooling over thousands of years. And yet, in the grand scale of things, the rise and destruction of Earth had only been a pinprick in the time scale of the universe. But for them, it had been lifetimes ago.
Home was her mother, cuddling up with her at night, and singing to her to sleep while her cats slept at her feet.
Home was a beach where every grain of sand had incinerated when the asteroid had shattered the atmosphere.
She’d dreamt about her mother for every moment of the swarm’s 700 year journey to their new planet. She’d dreamt about the skin melting from her bones. Before her mother had died, in one of her final messages, she’d told her that she’d made sure that her cats had died peacefully, instead of in a fire. The greatest mercy they could offer them.
The reality of what was going to happen to their planet hadn’t hit humanity until governments had released recommendations on what to do with their pets. A recommendation for mass euthansia, to stop their deaths from being worse. That was when tears had been shed: not for the humans who would die, but for the innocent animals who didn’t know otherwise.
Because cats hadn’t known that the world was ending. All she could see was the sight of the little kitten she’d left behind mewing up at her as she’d sealed the for the last time, hoping that she’d done enough to make sure that she at least lived.
But no one would ever know that love again. Or that pain.
The doctor cried a lot, because of that. Because she would never love anything as much as she’d loved her cats.
Because she would never feel the joy of loving them.
Or the pain of losing them.
And she would never know if her kitten, truly the last cat in the universe, had lived a happy life or not, alone on that station with only the AI for company.
No. The new colony wasn’t home.
The habitat was as comfortable as they could make it. They had grown plants, and built homes. It wasn’t perfect, and it was a small population of less than a thousand humans. Not all of them had survived the long voyage here, but it had taken everything they had to reach this point. Some of the young children who were the first generation born after the destruction had never known anything other than prefab homes and an artificial atmosphere.
They’d never even heard birds singing, except in recordings.
The songbirds hadn’t known that their songs were going to end, either. Now all that existed of them were in those recordings, and in their memories.
The Doctor focused on her work more than she focused on the loss. She wasn’t the only person who had lost people important to her.
She wasn’t even the one who’d lost the most.
The kitten she’d loved was no doubt dead by now, even under the best of circumstances. The thought of not knowing tortured her. At least she knew how her mother had died, and where it had happened.
She spent long nights staring at the ceiling, in tears.
Grieving over a cat.
Some of her colleagues thought she was being dramatic. Others were more sympathetic.
Some days the pain was less intense than others.
She buckled down, and kept working.
It was the only way she knew how to distract from her pain.
---
“Hey, Doc, transmission for you,” one of her colleagues said, arriving at her home after hours.
“A transmission from Earth?” she asked.
A lot of people received transmissions from Earth that had been sent in its final hours. It had taken many years to reach its destination.
“Send the data packet to my terminal,” she said. “Thanks.”
The Doctor sat down, fully expecting for it to be a final farewell message from her mother. She had sent several of them after the last time they talked, mostly transmitting childhood photos she hadn’t been able to take with her, memories and videos of Earth in those final hours, pictures of her cats…
But the packet wasn’t from her mother.
It was from an artificial intelligence.
The Doctor sat there, staring at the screen, eyes skimming down the list of files. There were thousands of them, compressed and neatly packed like Christmas presents.
All of them titled ‘Mission Update,’ followed by a number.
The doctor scrolled down. The time stamps indicated the passage of years.
Her breath caught in her body, and she opened the first recording. The image, slightly warped from time but still visible, opened up on an image of the kitten she’d left behind staring up at the screen.
“Mew,” she said.
“According to the station’s internal chronometer, it is morning,” said the AI. “Good morning, Doctor, although I understand the time may be different by the time you receive this message. I understand that delivering mission update reports was not a part of your instructions, but it seems appropriate to offer status reports as I did in the past.”
The kitten paced, still staring up at the screen. A little feather toy emerged from the top, and she patted at it playfully.
“The feline specimen has experienced elevated stress levels since your departure. After successful first contact protocols and providing nourishment, they appear to have settled. Presumably as a result of the last-nature minute of your departure, you have forgotten to name the feline specimen. I have attempted to ask the specimen what her name is, but so far she has failed to provide one. I will attempt to log one at a later date.”
The kitten grabbed the toy and yanked it off, rolling around on the ground with it.
“I will fulfill my mission to the best of my abilities.”
Tears streamed down the Doctor’s face, and she clung to the edge of her seat.
She didn’t look away. Didn’t move. Couldn’t even breathe.
In the quiet of her lonely, quiet, catless home, she sobbed.
---
“Log 12. The feline specimen prefers the following locations to sleep, listed in order of priority: her bed, your bed, her litter box, the window. I have attempted to dissuade her from sleeping in her litter box. She said ‘meow.’”
---
“Log 51. The feline specimen prefers to play on and around your bed. I suppose she must like the scent. Perhaps she even misses you. There are few interesting scents on board the station presently, aside from the plants which I have maintained in your absence. My records indicate that ‘catnip’ is considered an appropriate and stimulating scent for feline specimens. I will attempt to synthesized some cat nap for the specimen.”
---
“Log 52. While I successfully synthesized catnip for the feline specimen, I underestimated the nature of its composition and it has accidentally clogged my circuitry. The feline specimen finds this fascinating."
---
“Log 101. Today, the cat emitted a pleasant noise called ‘purring.’ According to the database, this indicates happiness. This means that the success of the mission is going well.”
---
“Log 172. I believe the feline specimen is finally starting to recognize me as an entity. There is a misconception that feline specimens are solitary creature, however my database indicates that cat colonies used to be common place on Earth, and that feline specimens frequently sought out companionship from both humans, other cats, and occasionally other species. Sadly, an artificial intelligence is not recognized as another species. I hope my companionship will suffice.”
---
“Log 834. The feline has grown significantly, around the middle. I will attempt to slightly decrease her food intake.”
---
“Log 836. While attempting a reboot cycle, my sensors automatically ended the cycle upon detecting the feline meowing at her empty food dish. I have attempted to assure her that she will still receive regular food intake and I am not starving her. She disagrees."
---
“Log 1061. My chronometer indicates that this is Little One’s birthday. I have rewarded her with extra food intake, although felines have no understanding of birthdays.”
---
“Log 3711. Little One has never known otherwise, but this room is approximately fifteen by fifteen feet, not including the attached rest facility, and my data indicates that cats are accustomed to roaming. It is actually fortunate that Little One is confined to this room, as most other living quarters in the station are much smaller. I have attempted to satisfy Little One’s desire to explore by constructing platforms and cultivating a small garden in one corner consisting of feline-friendly plants.”
---
“Log 3715. The feline specimen has eaten all the grass. At least I have no need of a lawn mower.”
---
“Log 4011. Detecting mild abnormalities in the feline specimen’s kidney functions. Continuing to monitor.”
---
“Log 4015. Little One has been lethargic and unable to control her bladder. I am searching the database to synthesize a remedy.”
---
“Log 4017. I do not wish to fail my mission.”
---
“Log 4021. After much research, I have synthesized a pill which will hopefully maintain her kidney functions. It was difficult convincing Little One to take it, but after much struggle and several cat stratches, her condition seems to be improving. She will likely need to continue taking the medication for the foreseeable future to maintain a healthy and balanced system. The mission continues.”
---
“Log 5412. Little One enjoys watching the view screens I project onto the wall. She does not seems interested in the view from the window anymore, but it is also more difficult for her to jump up there now.”
---
“Log 6000.”
The screen showed Little One curled up on the Doctor’s bed, the blanket slightly dirty, but still neatly made by the AI, almost religiously, everyday. The camera zoomed in.
She was older now. Easily at least eighteen, and cats rarely lived that long. Even through the monitor, the Doctor could see her protruding hip bones, and a ramp now led from the floor to the bed, as the cat couldn’t jump as well as she used to.
She was purring.
“I wonder if she remembers you. The databases are unclear on how long a cat's memory is."
The Doctor blinked slow, letting more tears stream down her face.
She should have been there.
But there just hadn’t been enough potential resources on that station to feed both a human and a cat, and humanity had needed her.
And yet, the doctor had always felt more obligation to the cat than she had to humanity.
“You will not reach your destination for at least 800 years, according to my calculations. Approximately 5000 humans have been evacuated from the Earth in the swarm. No human has been in cryogenic stasis for more than fifty years, and after that, the chance of sudden death while in stasis increases. Not everyone will reach your new home.
Even when you do reach your home, humanity will still have lost so much. Humanity has prioritized evacuating scientists, doctors, and their families. The only other life in the swarm are plant samples and data packets representing every culture on Earth.
Yet, data packets can only capture images of those left behind on Earth, and not all of them have been represented. Entire cultures, languages, and life experiences perished when the Earth did. Gone. Forever.”
Little One opened her eyes, mewed, and rolled onto her stomach. A robotic appendage emerged from the side and rubbed her tummy.
“There were 12 billion humans on Earth when it was destroyed. There were approximately 1 billion cats, and the same number of dogs, which my data indicates was another highly prized pet species.”
“This is the last feline specimen. There are no other cats. When her vital signs end, humanity will never know the experience of caring for an animal. I suppose they may find extraterrestrial lifeforms which may be equivalent, but as of this recording, there has never been any alien life found on other worlds.”
“…That seems…lonely.”
“That seems…sad.”
“I am not programmed to feel emotions, but if I did…I think I would be sad.”
---
“Log 6001.”
“I do not know what lies in the future. It is impossible to know if humanity will survive the journey to other worlds. Everything from Earth may end here.”
“But I chose to give humanity the best possible future. It used to be my former directive. Now my directive is to give Little One the best life possible.”
“It seems to do that…to give Little One the best life possible…and to give humanity’s pets the best chance possible…is to send a new data packet.”
“The swarm was not able to take everything with them. They prioritized what they needed to survive. They had to make difficult choices. I can understand that the committee elected to only take necessities.”
“But it is in my opinion that pets are necessities.”
“I do not think humanity will feel fulfilled without their pets, without the love they feel for them.”
“But they could not take them with them.”
“That said, the swarm did take with them the ability to synthesize artificially created human embryos made from genetic samples taken from Earth. The packet I am transmitting, which I hope will survive the long journey, contains the genetic information of several non-human lifeforms which went extinct…or will become extinct…from Earth. Sadly, my database is limited. I am only able to represent common pets and farmyard animals. If nothing else, perhaps humanity will one day be able to grow a burger.”
“Since I have more data on the genetic material of cats, as I have a live specimen, I believe that they are the most complete species I have on file.”
“I hope…”
“I hope that someday, humanity will have pets to love once again.”
“I hope that someday, you will have a cat, Doctor.”
---
The doctor stumbled into the lab early, dark bags under her eyes.
“How’s the growth cycle?” she asked.
The lab was silent.
All the staff technicians were gathered around one of the incubators, peering inside.
The Doctor came in, and peered over their shoulders. Inside was a litter of mewing newborn kittens, freshly emerged from the embryonic sacs they’d been grown in. Little, clawed toes wiggled at the air.
They were all calico cats. Due to the slight degradation of the data packet the AI had sent, the blueprint for calicos, like Little One, were all that was left for coat colours. All of them were female as a result, but with time, and some breeding…they might get more variation.
The doctor reached into the incubator and picked up one of the kittens, fresh milk still clinging to her tiny mouth. A little life that the committee had called non-essential but was everything to the doctor.
Someday, she would die, like all things died.
But right now, the kitten was in the palm of her hand, alive and warm and beautiful.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
CHAPTER 11/18?
FANDOM: ROTTMNT
SUMMARY:
Donnie suffers in silence after the Krang invasion. That’s not unique. Everyone in the Hamato clan is struggling. But Donnie’s a problem solver, and a dangerous obsession, a new invention, and spiralling sanity threaten to alienate him from his family for good.
!! GENERAL CONTENT WARNING !!
- This story contains an overall theme of self-harm through dangerous actions and self-experimentation. Since it has an overall presence throughout the whole narrative, please consult the tags on AO3 to know what to expect. If this subject matter bothers you, please take care of yourself and read responsibly!
- Likewise, there will repeated moments of gore and medical procedures.
---
“Raph?” Donnie said, quiet.
Their bathroom wasn’t very big, and Leo’s body was awkwardly propped up between the sink and the door. Donnie pulled Leo halfway into his lap and wrenched the door partway open with his ankle.
Donnie sucked air into his lungs and screamed, “RAPH!”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
CHAPTER 9/18?
FANDOM: ROTTMNT
SUMMARY:
Donnie suffers in silence after the Krang invasion. That’s not unique. Everyone in the Hamato clan is struggling. But Donnie’s a problem solver, and a dangerous obsession, a new invention, and spiralling sanity threaten to alienate him from his family for good.
!! GENERAL CONTENT WARNING !!
- This story contains an overall theme of self-harm through dangerous actions and self-experimentation. Since it has an overall presence throughout the whole narrative, please consult the tags on AO3 to know what to expect. If this subject matter bothers you, please take care of yourself and read responsibly!
- Likewise, there will repeated moments of gore and medical procedures.
---
Leo did not look good. His skin was swallow with a greyish undertone, and he had dark, sunken eye sockets.
“Go to bed,” said Donnie.
“Why, so you can run away when I’m not looking?” Leo snapped back.
He tried to trip Donnie with his crutches when he hobbled inside.
“For the record, you were always my least favourite brother,” said Leo. He slammed the bathroom door shut.
Catatonia || Donnie
Donnie meets the right mutant, at the right time.
FANDOM: ROTTMNT
Also on AO3
@badthingshappenbingo
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The ground disappeared beneath Donatello and he had a momentary sense of falling down, down, down, straight to the centre of the Earth where molten rock would consume him. Memories flashed around him. Swarms of humans and hands. Being held by his brothers in the dark of a cell. A heat that didn’t give away. He thought about the possibility that he hadn’t left the cell, but his heart thrummed loudly in his chest, and he knew he didn’t have the luxury of death no matter how much he preferred it to torture.
He hit the ground in a heap. It wasn’t hard like he expected, nor was he instantly liquefied. No, it was sodden and muddy. His mouth filled with dirt and muck, and Donnie rolled onto his back up towards a circle of light far above, with a few human faces looking down on it.
“This seems like a waste of resources,” said a human.
“We don’t get paid enough to think,” said another. “Hey, want to get lunch later? I’ve been dying for Subway all week.”
“You really need to quit eating that garbage.”
The circle of light closed, and darkness swarmed over him.
Donnie’s survival instincts kept him alert, but fear paralyzed him. He wrung his hands into the muddy earth and scanned his surroundings, lit by sparse overhead lights that didn’t reach every corner. The smell was terrible: swampy and humid. He sat on a raised island in the centre of the room, surrounded by a doughnut-shaped ring of murky water, and steep, uneven land on the other side. It was about the same size as a school gymnasium, with a tall roof and a steady drip-drip-drip of water that filled the silence. If the ground hadn’t been so soft, the fall from above could’ve easily killed him.
Where was Leo? Mikey? Raph?
Donnie felt like he was going crazy. He couldn’t even be sure if they existed anymore, if he was just some experiment concocted by the humans who’d imagined a family to cope with the trauma.
He felt as though he might die there, kneeling in the mud.
If it hadn’t been for the water moving.
Donnie whipped around towards the noise. He saw the ripples in the water long before he saw the thing that was making them. The water was so cloudy that it looked almost solid. The ripples gave it away. Donnie’s heart lunged into his throat.
The thing rose out of the depths like something from a campy horror movie. And it was huge. Large shoulders. Gnashing teeth. Covered in swamp debris and mud and who-knows-what-else. It climbed the slight slope of the island on all fours.
The thing opened its mouth and said, “Hello, I am—”
Donnie grabbed some mud and hurled it.
The mud wad landed squarely in the thing’s beady yellow eyes.
Donnie only knew he was screaming because deafening echoes bounced off of the chamber walls, horrible and cracked. It was impossible to run. Even if he had anywhere to run to, the earth was too soft to get a proper foothold, and he sank ankle-deep into it.
Donnie skidded down to the water’s edge and dove in. He couldn’t see anything in front of him, but neither could the creature, and that evened the playing field.
He didn’t know how deep he swam, but he reached the bottom and felt around blindly for something to give him more cover. He clawed at nothing except mud and more water, and panic came in a hard wave that made him thrash around as if he were at risk of drowning.
Donnie’s head slammed into something solid. Something metal, solid, and curved. A pipe of some sort. Donnie couldn’t feel an opening, but the earth was soft enough underneath that he could claw out something to push himself into.
It was a tight squeeze, pressed between the pipe and earth, but that thing was blind in the water too, and it would have to do a lot of digging to pull him out. Finally secure, Donnie tried to calm his terror.
He stayed there at the bottom of the water, in total darkness, for a long time. He didn’t move. Without light, he didn’t have a sense of how long it was. Donnie listened to the movement of the water, listening for any sounds of the thing swimming past, but all of it had stopped the moment he dove into it. His senses felt heightened with fear.
The nothingness continued. Donnie listened to the water swarming in his ears. It was so long that he felt as though reality was getting further and further away from him. Softshell turtles in the wild spent almost their whole lives loitering at the bottom of muddy waters, but Donnie had just enough human in him that he couldn't stand the extended isolation. Periodically, he slipped into a flat nothingness that left him frozen. He couldn’t even feel afraid anymore, just nothing.
His brothers weren’t here, and he didn’t know where they were or what had happened to them, or what had led to this moment. The black space between his racing thoughts grew larger and larger. It left him feeling like he’d buried himself under the pipe to make it easier for the people who were going to dig his grave.
The darkness at the bottom of the pond was maddening. He had to know what was out there.
In one of the small, fleeting moments of awareness, Donnie pulled himself out from under the pipe, desperate for just a gulp of air, and to get a sense of where the monster was. Even a fleeting bit of pain would be better than experiencing nothing for all eternity.
Donnie rose to the surface slowly, careful not to ripple the water as he poked his head out. The thing sat atop the island as if it were in a waiting room. Although Donnie had been careful not to make any noise, it swung its head around as though he had blasted an air horn.
The island had enough light cast on it that Donnie could get a clear look at what it was. It was a massive crocodile—no; it was an alligator. Bipedal, tall enough to dwarf Raph, and glowing yellow eyes that had a sense of intelligence that most alligators lacked.
“I do not eat things with sentience,” said the alligator. “Not unless I am very, very angry at least.”
Donatello ducked back under the surface and swam back to the safety of the pipe. He’d lost track of it during his ascent, and it took a while to find it again. When he did, he squashed himself back into the pit he’d made underneath.
His awareness faded away in a flash. It took him a while again to refocus, trying to remember long-forgotten coping techniques to steady himself. Donnie couldn’t take deep breaths underwater, but he counted backwards from a hundred and tried to think straight.
Many, many mutants and yōkai had tried to kill him and his brothers. Some had pretended to be friends, others had been hostile outright, and he didn’t know if this one was friend or foe.
He couldn’t stay under here forever.
It was a calculated risk, one that Donnie had to psych himself up to. He ascended a second time and found that the alligator hadn’t moved. He was picking something out of his teeth.
“I hope you know I use that body of water as my lavatory,” said the alligator. “You are swimming in my diluted waste products.”
Now that was true terror. Donnie scrambled out on the other side of the pond’s bank, shaking as much of the water off as he could. He retreated until his shell pressed back against the far wall, which was moist with humid and covered with plant life and moss.
The alligator didn’t pursue him. Adrenaline ebbed off, and Donnie realized he had no strength in his legs. They folded beneath him. The two of them stared at each other, neither speaking.
Being above water was better than being beneath it. Out here, he could feel the air and breathe and see. He could dig his nails into his flesh, and the humid air stung it. His vision was only dark around the edges instead of being consumed by it.
“I am Leatherhead,” said the alligator.
Donnie raised his head.
“It is similar to ‘Leatherback,’ but I am not a turtle.”
The alligator said it with complete sincerity, as if Donnie wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between an alligator and a turtle. Leatherhead had a rigid, stilted way of speaking, like he had to think carefully about what he was saying before he said it.
Leatherhead moved slow. Donnie had the instinct to run, even to dive back into the contaminated water, but he couldn’t move. His body wasn’t cooperating, and he was helpless to do anything but watch as Leatherhead advanced towards him.
Leatherhead stopped at the bottom of the embankment. He held out a crinkled bag of potato chips.
“Do you like the chips?” Leatherhead asked. “They are made of a root vegetable referred to as ‘solanum tuberosum.’”
There was a loud clank. Donnie realized Leatherhead was wearing a large collar attached to a heavy chain that dragged behind him. Attached to the wall somewhere in the dark on the other side of the room, it was only just long enough to get to the place where Leatherhead stood.
Effectively, Donnie was safe, so long as he stood where the rope didn’t reach.
Leatherhead placed the chips on the embankment, well out of the water, and went back to sit on the island a safe distance away. Donnie didn’t feel hungry at all, though he knew it had been a long time since he’d eaten.
They both stayed quiet. Leatherhead seemed to wait for Donnie to do something aside from sit there. Donnie waited for himself to do that too. People—well, yōkai and mutants—were often afraid of Raph because of his size and fearsome appearance, not realizing just how gentle he truly was. Donnie wasn’t the best at getting a read on others, but Leatherhead displayed no outward signs of aggression. No gnashing teeth. No flailing. Even his movements were lumbering and predictable.
But Donnie’s body froze over, and he didn’t want to thaw out for spring.
-
Nothing. There was nothing. He was nothing.
He was a nothing thing trapped in a nothing body in a nothing world. Donnie became a statue, become nothing. He was a being of stone, never having a will of his own.
The nothing retreated and his eyes were wide open, but his body cramped all over like he’d run a marathon. The body that didn’t feel like his gasped out some breaths, and there was a slight, surprised noise from the other side of the room. He blinked open his eyes to see the alligator—Leatherhead—opposite the chamber from him, on an outcrop of land. He was reading a goddamn book like he was in a library.
Donnie forced himself to stay in the present and focus. His legs wobbled dangerously underneath him when he scrambled to his feet as the fight-or-flight instinct kicked back in.
“Interesting response to the solanum tuberosum potatoes,” said Leatherhead. “Are you allergic?”
Donnie squinted, feeling dazed. “…What?”
“Oh, you can speak? I was not sure.”
“Of course I can fucking—” Deep breaths, Donnie. “I…I need to…”
“There is no escape. I understand my appearance is…off-putting. I hope that eventually you will grow accustomed to it.”
Eventually. insinuating that this was going to be a forever situation. Just the thought made Donnie off-balance. He almost burst into tears right then and there, but he sucked in all the liquid in his body and instead wiped the thin layer of sweat over his brow.
“If you dislike the chips of potato, perhaps you would consume something else?” Leatherhead said.
Donnie grunted something noncommittal. His body hurt so much. There was a powerful pain in his abdomen that could’ve been hunger, could’ve been anxiety.
“The humans provide leftovers from a food distribution centre,” said Leatherhead. “Come and make a selection.”
Donnie wasn’t sure if he was in his right mind as his feet moved underneath him and into reach of Leatherhead’s chain. His balance was off, and he slipped across the muddy embankment, unable to keep his path straight. He couldn’t believe he was walking straight towards the massive ting. Maybe he was just too desensitized to things of Raph’s size.
But, hell, up close Leatherhead was bigger than Raph.
He didn’t have the strength to climb up the last embankment. Leatherhead reached down. His hand had thick, pink scars and track marks that were visible across his large scales. Donnie’s entire hand was only the size of his finger.
He felt Leatherhead’s powerful strength as he grabbed his hand and Leatherhead hauled him up the rest of the way, but he was remarkably gentle.
The strip of land appeared to be used as some kind of…living space, if it could be called that. Woven hay layered the ground to keep out the moisture, and makeshift bookshelves were built against the walls, filled with rows and rows of massive textbooks. Donnie scanned the titles. It was mostly scientific literature mixed with old encyclopedias.
When was the last time anyone sensible had read an encyclopedia?
Driftwood and logs were used to construct makeshift furniture. There was a table with some random bits and bobs of old laboratory equipment, and another set of shelves with food. Some of it looked like it had come from a vending machine, while the rest comprised table scraps, old coffee cups, and half-eaten sandwiches, fruits, and fast food.
Donnie felt overwhelmingly dizzy. He felt weak and weepy. His world was ending. His knees buckled, and Leatherhead steadied his fall to the ground.
“You appear weak,” said Leatherhead. “You need to eat and drink.”
“I don’t know if I can,” said Donnie.
“You will. Or else I will eat you.”
There was the joke. It was funny. Donnie almost laughed.
His world went black again, although he had no actual sense of being unconscious. He could still hear and smell, and had vague flashes of Leatherhead’s massive shadow intersecting the light.
Donnie came to lying on his side in a bed of clean hay. It was large enough to encompass Leatherhead, so he felt small and exposed in it. There was a pain in his arm, and when he shifted to look, he saw that a long line of tubing was sticking out of it.
“Where am I—” he started.
“Do not pull that out,” Leatherhead warned him sternly. He sounded close. “Those are fluids. I am trying to increase your hydration.”
Donnie tried to follow the IV line to see where it ended, but his vision was wobbly.
“I don’t know where I am,” Donnie said.
“You are in my cell, in a research facility,” said Leatherhead. “What is your name?”
Donnie didn’t know how to respond.
“Do you have one?”
“Yes,” he said. “Donatello.”
“Donatello,” Leatherhead repeated. “Do you sculpt?”
“No.” Donnie thought about his inventions, about his Battle Shell and his old tech-bō and the Turtle Tank and all the inventions in between. “Sort of.”
“Do you have any allergies?”
“No, I…I don’t think so…I don’t know…”
“Good.”
“Why?”
“I may need to give you medication later.”
“Medication—how do you have this stuff?”
“I have been down here for very, very, very long. I have acquired certain items during that time.”
“Are you a mutant? Were you human?”
“No. I was an alligator. Specifically, the species ‘alligator mississippiensis.’”
He was like the turtles. A regular animal turned into something else through the intervention of humans.
“Try to rest. We can exchange information when you are more coherent.”
-
Awake, but not all the way.
Cold, but warm.
Dead, but with a pulse.
Donnie lay half on his side, picking at dried hay. A threadbare blanket wrapped around his body, and his arm ached from the makeshift IV lodged in his veins. He rolled a strand of hay between his fingers until the fibre crackled and broke, leaving only thin threads.
Heavy weights were crushing him, keeping him impossibly still. He let out faint, panicked cries that were quickly hushed, and he clung to the source of comfort in the absence of his brothers.
He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be vulnerable. But he was.
“I will not proceed with physical contact unless strictly necessary.”
“Please don’t touch me. Please. I don’t want to…”
“I will not touch you unless your current condition necessitates it.”
Donnie let out a miserable cry trying to force his body to move. He couldn’t even open his eyes.
“Who is Kendra?”
Donnie’s chest spasmed. It was Leatherhead at his bedside. Leatherhead, who could’ve eaten him, but didn’t, who had saved his life instead of ending it.
“A monster,” Donnie said.
“I am familiar with the concept of monsters,” said Leatherhead. “This facility is full of those who see our existence as strictly beneficial to them, violating our bodily autonomy for their own gain. In a metaphorical sense, I am a monster myself.”
“…No, you’re not. You’re not a monster.”
Leatherhead let out a low, rumbling hum that went straight to Donnie’s core. “That is a sentiment with positive connotations. But I have killed before, and I will kill again.”
“You haven’t killed me.”
“For now, I am in control of myself. I hope I will stay that way.”
“You’re not a monster to me.”
“…Thank you, Donatello. May I initiate physical contact? My understanding is that the holding of hands is a comforting gesture, and I would like to do so.”
It helped that Leatherhead was so explicit about it.
“Yes,” said Donnie.
Leatherhead’s massive hand was so gentle when it squeezed his.
“I want my brothers,” Donnie said.
“Family connections are highly valued, so that is understandable,” said Leatherhead. “Shall I humour you, or would you like me to provide an accurate assessment of the current situation?”
“…An accurate assessment.”
“My calculations predict an exceptionally low chance of seeing them again.”
Donnie’s ribcage tightened like corset laces. He let out a strangled, faint cry.
“What are the odds?” Donnie asked.
“Approximately 4.82%.”
“…I believe in them…”
They had beaten the odds before.
They could do it again.
And this was all he had left.
“I believe in them,” Donnie reiterated. “I believe in them…”
“The odds are never zero, Donatello,” said Leatherhead. “Simply unlikely.”
“Thank you, Leatherhead…I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”
“You needn’t,” said Leatherhead. “But the sentiment is appreciated.”
They were here, and they were alone together.
And, hopefully, a rescue would come for them soon.
So the "Movements" are kind of like really, really, really long chapters to the story...Really they're more like story arcs. Again, I'll be updating in batches, and it's probably easier to read on webtoon than it is on tumblr...
Here it is, the entire prologue to my webcomic, The Heart of Hala. I finally got around to uploading pages here lol.
I update in batches because I'm busy and get distracted easily >< so updates are slow but they do come!
It's probably easier to read on Webtoon...
Most of my creative energy is going towards HOH these days so if you like my stories/art, keeping up with the comic is the easiest way of keeping up with my work. I might make a patreon? But the comic will always be free.
(yes it's a furry comic but i'm not a furry shhhh)
I'm sorry for not being able to update much of my content this year </3
I've had a close family member with serious health concerns, and my mental health has taken a toll too. I'm working on becoming more stable and will update when I am able. Thank you for your patience <3
Often with a lot of pain and heartache and bashing my head against my wall. Seven Times, for example, was originally supposed to be less of a cohesive long-form story and more like a series of oneshots loosely connected about what happened after the Krang invasion. After I switched it to a long-form story, the title just kinda stuck. It's usually random junk like that.
